Recover
by TheWillOfMythal
Summary: Some wounds are easy to treat, others take more time. Eventually they all scar. But it doesn't mean they stop hurting. A fix to 3x07 with a variation. Clexa one shot.


Hi everyone! I'm new in this fandom but not to the show, after all that happened I decided to write this in an attempt to deal with Lexa's death, by completely ignoring it, and pretending that nothing bad happened after the love scene in 3x07, that maybe Lexa got shot but survived because, well, she was Lexa, the Commander, and because she should have all the best healers in Polis to save her in case something like this happens.

Anyway, as I said, this is my first Clexa fic. Lexa got shot but survived and this is a moment that she shares with Clarke as she takes care of her injury. A small mention about Costia.

It's been almost three months since she was taken away from us so cruelly and unfairly. I just wanted to make her live once again even if just here. Now I'll leave you to it.

I apologize for eventual grammar errors (english is not my first language).

Clarke's POV

Enjoy

* * *

Her steps are light on the floor.

Her movements swift whether she attacks or moves aside to avoid a blow.

Her eyes fixed with the ones of her rival to predict his next move.

It's a dance that I've only witnessed once before. On a ground where only one of two warriors were to stand victorious, and where the incitements of an adoring crowd and the sharp sound of the blades were the background that made the air even heavier, thick with the dark presence of doom that those moments held.

In that occasion I have doubted of her.

I have _worried for her_ above anything else that the outcome of that fight would have brought if she wasn't to win, although nothing would have made me admit so.

Now however... Things have changed.

A rare grunt of exertion and the sound of wood colliding against wood over and over again echoing around the large room brings me back from my thoughts.

The noise is actually a reassurance. A reminder that this isn't a real fight but just a supposed to be harmless exercise. Yet the small courtesy of sparring with wooden sticks instead of sharp blades does very little to soothe my concerns and ease my racing heart, even if I can't deny how much a part of me is relieved, and yes, even very impressed by what I'm witnessing.

I have objected at first.

Many times actually.

It still isn't wise for her to train.

Not yet.

Not after what happened.

A small knot forms in my throat and my heart clenches at the fresh memory, but I manage to swallow down the sensation and force those dark thoughts away from my mind through a long, silent breath.

The brooding Commander is used to negotiations. And she can be very flexible if it regards something she is particularly interested into. Well... At least with me.

Watching her pacing her bedroom these past few days between a meeting and the other, itching for some active duty has been both heartbreaking and kind of amusing actually, but when she announced me that she was going to reasume with her training, those traces of amusement were taken away from me as if they had never existed, leaving me torn between the resurfacing concerns that I had been able to put under control in the last week, and feeling bad because I knew that I couldn't deny her the right to regain herself... Who she is, what she represents.

For how simple it may seem, I know how much she needed this.

I couldn't stop her, or argue with her if this was what she had already decided to do.

But I tried anyway.

And to my immense relief, she has once again listened to me.

In the end she got the better deal, of course. I have given in to her irresistible charm, _allowing_ her to train at the condition that I would be right there to _supervise_ her.

And here I am.

My presence is kind of useless, really, but I suspect that she may have accepted because she knew that being here, watching her, would have eased my concerns and soothed my nerves.

And if that's the case, then she was right.

 _And it is actually working,_ I think with a hint of surprise, trying to hide the small smile that I can feel tugging at the corner of my mouth even if the few eyes in the room are fixed on said young leader to admire her extraordinary battle skills.

The time limit that we have established is quickly running out, and I don't know if I should be grateful for it, aware that in just a few minutes I will be able to breathe more easily, or if I should be disappointed.

I don't want her to exhaust herself and put her health in jeopardy now that she is recovering well. But I can't deny the effect that watching her fight has on me either.

There is _something_ in the way she moves; lighter than air, more silent than the wind, yet strong and fast like the most clever and deadly of predators.

She carries grace in her steps and holds strength and precision in each one of her blows.

I watch her as she swings her fighting stick on the back of her adversary's legs, one of her biggest and strongest warriors, taking advantage of his momentarly vulnerable position and lack of attention to strike.

A loud thud and a huffed grunt fill the room as he lands on his back, making the reinforced concrete floor shake under his massive weight.

He is easily three times her size if not more. An intimidating mountain of muscle, yet she managed to put him on his back as if it was nothing.

Even though I have seen before how fast and skilled she is in battle, it still surprises me. Especially knowing that she isn't at her best right now.

" _Nodotaim._ " The command in her voice as she orders her rival to stand up once again covers the tiredness I know her body is suffering despite her best efforts not to let it show as she squares her shoulders and expertly rotates the wooden stick in her hand.

The warrior obeys, stands, and a new match begins.

I catch just a few glimpses of her face while she fights, but it's more than enough for me to notice the way she bares her teeth in a combination of excitement and intimidation, reminding me of a malicious grin, and recognizing the distinctive spark of passion that makes her green eyes shine like raw emeralds under the kohl of the war paint surrounding them and running down her cheeks.

She manages to block a couple of blows but fails to avoid the next one that sends her down on one knee with a muffled grunt.

The sense of deja vu that pervades me when I see her in such position trying to overpower her adversary with her weapon is enough to twist my stomach into tight knots and make my heart leap with anguish.

I am aware that she isn't in any real danger. I'm simply unable to stop worrying about her current state.

But I'm giving her too little credit. And once again she proves me that I shouldn't when with another swift movement, I see her shift her weight back, forcing her rival to follow her as she rolls backwards on the floor.

She is light, and owns impressive agility.

My eyes barely catch the incredibly rapid motion and before I can register it properly she is already on her feet. The strong muscular warrior laying on the floor with one of her boots on his chest to keep him down and the extremity of her wooden stick pressed right under his chin.

I don't even realize how much tension has gathered upon my shoulders and neck during these brief yet seemingly endless seconds until now, when I release a breath I didn't know I have been holding, welcoming the soothing, warm wave of relief that follows and washes over me bringing also a small smile on my lips.

Seeing her so full of energy, just like she used to be before the _accident_ , is definitely a good reason to smile about. And witnessing her regaining her full strength is just as reassuring and comforting.

Not to say a very enjoyable sight.

However, I have to bite on my lips in order to suppress a chuckle when I see how deeply satisfied she looks for her victory. Noticing the way she tilts her chin up, the way she squares her shoulders a little more looking down at her defeated adversary with _that_ particular _look_ that never fails in sending shivers down my spine...

For a brief moment her eyes shift from the warrior laying on the floor to stare at me from under her lashes.

Beside the subtle pleased look, her face is stoic as always. She doesn't let anything else transpire.

Time is up, technically. But the thought that she might ignore our deal and continue with her training, already mentally scolding myself and cursing, knowing that allowing her to do this would have ended in such way, inevitably crosses my mind.

And this is why I am so surprised when instead I see her remove her fighting staff from under her opponent's chin before taking a step back to let him stand.

" _Daun ste pleni._ " She informs the warrior with a short nod once he is up on his feet. "Leave us."

Despite our agreement, her decision still feels kind of... Unexpected.

I know how much she was enjoying this.

" _Sha, Heda._ " The giant warrior bows respectfully to his leader before heading towards the door.

He leaves with a slight limp in his steps that wasn't there when they first started fighting, and I have to tilt my head down in an attempt to hide the amused smile that is tugging at my lips as the guards close the doors behind him, leaving the brooding Commander and I alone in the vast, now very silent room.

I'm the first one to break it.

"That was... very impressive." I admit as she set her weapon against the wall before walking towards me. Head tilted slightly up, back straightened, and the faint look of satisfaction still there on her painted face too, brightening her stunning green gems even more after my compliment.

"And it also looks like your warrior will need a day or two to rest after this."

The corner of her mouth curl briefly up at this, forming one her half smiles.

"He will be just fine." She reassures me as she starts to remove her leather gloves.

"He's one of my best archers. I've seen him take down three warriors at once with just one arrow.I don't expect him to be just as skilled in a close combat, but it's been a nice fight."

There is a clear note of pride in her voice as she speaks about her warriors' abilities, but also a general contentment about how the training went.

She doesn't say anything else, just remains there, silent, simply looking at me.

"All right," After a few long moments of silence I surrender through a heavy sigh, practically reading the _"I told you not to worry"_ in her subtly arched eyebrow. "You can say it..."

"Say what, Clarke?" She asks calmly with a small shake of her head as she undo the last strap of her left glove to free her long, slender, elegant fingers that contrast so deliciously with the scarred knuckles and calloused palm.

I can't tell if she is playing with me or if she is genuinely confused. The shade of curiosity on her face seems authentic, but the doubt in my mind remains. Only to vanish completely when I notice the distinctive glint of amusement shining in her eyes.

Those eyes that always offer their version of a smile to me before her lips can shape one of their own too.

I find it infuriating.

...but also incredibly attractive.

And even endearing sometimes if I'm being completely honest.

I narrow my eyes at her, half glaring, but just when I open my mouth to answer her, something else catches my attention.

With the adrenaline of the moment wearing off, the first signs of exertion and tiredness are starting to show on her face. More than understandable after her training. Certainly nothing to get worried about. And in fact those are not the signs that make the concerns inside me resurface once again.

It is more the light frown that has suddenly appeared between her brows as she diverts her gaze from mine that clenches my heart with worry.

"Hey," Before I can even realize it I have already taken those two steps and standing right in front of her. One hand resting on her shoulder and the other one on her uninjured side "you okay?"

Maybe its the softeness in my voice or the gentle touch. Whatever it is, seems enough to get her attention back to me.

The signs on her face are so subtle that I know I wouldn't even be able to recognize them if I hadn't spent the previous couple of weeks getting familiar with them. Especially with that particular crease that for how small has darkened her features and taken away the beautiful spark of amusement from her eyes.

To anyone else it would appear like one of her pensive frowns. But I know better. Not even the little round symbol that she keeps there or the thick war paint she wears is enough to mask that expression from my scrutiny.

"I..." She starts, swallows, but doesn't continue with her answer. And when in her eyes I can't find one either, my gaze shifts lower, where I notice the way she is gripping the gloves in her fist, with so much force that her knuckles have turned white. She lifts it as if considering to place it protectively above her side only to let it drop casually once again.

But her pretended nonchalance doesn't certainly fool me.

I let out a small silent sigh. Maybe I should be the one to say that infamous "I told you so", I think as I pull back from her, letting my hand slide down her arm.

"Come," I say softly at last instead, barely resisting the temptation to scold her like a child when I see the frown on her face deepening further, almost turning into a wince as she clenches her jaw. But also noticing how that shadow of a grimace softens in the moment I start caressing her forearm with my thumb, half absently, feeling the tense muscles there slowly starting to relax under my touch. "Let's go take a look at the wound."

She doesn't protest, nor tries to reassure me that she is fine like she has done over and over again especially in the last week whenever I asked her. All she does after a few more moments of silence is tilt her head slightly down, offering one of those eyes-nod of hers that have become quite familiar to me.

 _I can always scold her later..._

 **. . .**

She is silent as the guards let us in her bedroom closing the doors behind us.

 _Guiltily_ silent.

She has struggled to remain composed during the short walk down the hallways to her chambers. And even if no one else did, it has been impossible for me not to notice the tighteness in her jaw or the effort that she had to put behind each one of her steps.

The traces of anger and the temptation to admonish her for the whole training idea are completely gone now.

Seeing her like this...

It simply breaks me.

I give her the time and space she needs as she slips just as silently into her washroom mumbling just a few words about wanting to remove her war paint and wipe the few traces of sweat from her neck and arms while I sort through the supplies of herbs and bandages that are neatly arranged on the table in front of the couch, busying myself with the preparations of her medication while trying to ignore the way my stomach twists into those awfully familiar tight knots of concern.

 _I shouldn't have let her do this,_ I can't help but repeat over and over in my head.

I knew that things would have turned out this way and that I shouldn't have given in and let her train, doesn't matter how restless she looked with nothing to do.

But I simply couldn't stand seeing her like that, knowing how much she hates feeling useless and... Weak.

I actually think that this is the reason she also decided to apply her war paint, thicker and darker than night itself even if just for a training session.

She wants to return feel like Heda again, reassure herself as much as her own people that she's still the leader, still in charge and invincible.

Her people, her warriors were all extremely cheerful by her fast recovery after the _accident_ , knowing that their Commander had faced, fought and defeated death once again with a potentially fatal wound.

It gives them strength.

Hope.

To their eyes she really is invincible. A legend and more, if she wasn't already. Especially to the nightbloods kids, who are now seeing the Heda they have always adored and respected with renewed admiration and awe.

But they haven't seen her like I have.

They haven't seen the girl with loose hair stripped from armor and war paint shaking, struggling to breathe while bleeding on a bed.

I swallow as another knot forms in my throat at the images that I know will never fade from my mind.

 _No..._

They haven't seen any of that.

I can taste the acid in my mouth, feel it burning my throat at the still too fresh memory, feel my hands starting to shake so hard that I'm almost forced to drop the supplies I'm holding. But just when I think that I'm being dragged back there to relive the terryfing moments of that fateful day, a movement in the corner of my eye makes me raise my head.

And then I see her.

The reassurance that pushes through the anguish and hurt.

Our gaze meet just as she rounds the corner.

Leaving me breathless.

And I all I can do, is let myself drown into those impossibly deep green lakes and into the comfort that derives from the light into them.

Alive.

Breathing.

And...

My heart flutters at the wonderful sight that she is.

 _So beautiful._

I have to swallow, hard, in order to regain some control and bring some moisture in my suddenly very dry throat.

It never ends to surprise me how much younger and _innocuous_ she looks with her loose wavy hair falling over one shoulder and no war paint to overshadow her features and sharpen her eyes.

She looks so different, yet always the same to me somehow.

But like this... Like this I can see the softness that lives inside of her and that she only allows me to see so fully and _intimately_.

I don't even realize that I have left my crouched spot in front of the table and that I am actually walking towards her, stopping just a couple of feet in front of her.

She has always this kind of effect on me. The flame that draws me no matter what. Even if this time the weariness upon her face makes it much less enjoyable, bringing me back to the reason why we are currently here with my hands full of medical supplies in the first place.

"I'm sorry," She says quietly, looking and sounding oh so guilty as she diverts her gaze from mine, from my close scrutiny, as if reading my thoughts. "I should have listened to you, Clarke."

She never had trouble admitting her mistakes. She never holds back an apology because of pride, and this is one of the many, many traits about her that I greatly appreciate and admire.

For a moment my heart clenches almost painfully, yet I can't help the small, tender smile that starts tugging softly at the corner of my mouth, and that appears everytime I have occasion to see her like this.

I place the supplies I'm holding on the bed before closing the small remaining distance between us.

"You have listened to me." I reassure her with a nod recalling our conversation about the training. "No need to apologize."

For a few moments she simply looks at me, then nods still not looking very convinced but not wanting to discuss as she lowers her gaze once more, only for her eyes to return to me when I reach out a hand and start to gently caress her wrist with my thumb.

"It's okay," I promise her softly, noticing the tension finally starting to leave her shoulders a little at the time. "Let me take care of this."

I know that she isn't used to such treatments and attentions, but she doesn't protest when I help her sit on the furs of her beautifully crafted bed, frowing when I see her wince ever so slightly for the change of position.

She looks tired, but despite that brief grimace her features seem to have softened a little, and I know that here, in the safe refuge that is her bedroom, where the air is filled with the familiar scent of wax, wood and dried leaves, and with the comforting warmth offered by the beautiful afternoon glow, she is finally allowing herself to relax.

Knowing that I am the only one with whom she feels comfortable enough to give access to such a vulnerable side of her warms me from the inside like nothing else. Although I have to try very hard to not let that warmth show also on my cheeks and neck when I help her take off her shirt and watch as her hair, that seems to glow like infinite amber filaments against the bright afternoon sun, falls gently over her slightly tanned shoulders in soft waves.

But said flush on my face only deepens when I look down and remember that the simple garment was the only thing that was covering her now naked torso beside the bandages that are wrapped protectively around her middle and diagonally over one shoulder.

It's hardly the first time that I see her naked, but I can't help the delightful fluttering feeling that starts in my stomach and spread all over my body like a tingle whenever I see her undressed, even if just partially.

She is thin, slender, the exact contrary of hard and muscular as someone would wrongly assume seeing her fury and impressive strength into battle.

She is strong, of course, but her body shows only elegance and grace and softness...

And purest beauty.

When I finally divert my gaze from her collarbone and bare chest, blinking a few times to clean my vision, it isn't certainly lost on me the small smile playing on her lips, realizing that I have been caught staring.

She doesn't comment on it though, for which I'm really grateful, she just limits herself to that small, amused smile as I softly clear my throat, ducking my head, more in a lame attempt of a distraction from the bright blush on my face than anything else as I kneel in front of her and start to remove the bandages from her abdomen.

"Was it wrapped too tightly?" I ask her softly noticing the marks left on her skin by the gauze as I take it off her and roll it up in my hand.

"It was fine, Clarke." A short shakes of her head and reassuring smile on her face.

I unwrap the last layer with a sense of nervousness settling more and more heavily on my stomach, making my heart beat a little faster as I think about the possible conditions of her wound, only to release the breath I have been holding and feeling that uncomfortable sensation replaced by relief in the moment I take off the two protective rectangular gauzes from the front and back of her side, an inch below her ribcage where the bullet hit her. A through and through that miraculously pierced just muscle and skin.

For how skilled and constantly aware of her surrounding she is, not even Heda can dodge bullets. Especially if she happened to litterally walk into one.

After almost a month I still don't even dare to think about what would have happened if it were to hit her a few inches higher or more centered.

"You are healing well," I state smiling encouragingly up at her before returning to examine the scarring, roughly rounded wound at her side. It is almost completely healed, just a little swollen and warm for the physical activity, but nothing to be worried about.

"And you are also regaining your strength." I add replaying in my mind her training.

"I tire very easily." She disagrees sounding disappointed, hearing the edge of annoyance in her voice. "I should be able to execute my duty. Take care of my people." A pause. " _Our_ people." She corrects locking eyes with me. "Be the leader they deserve."

"You are." I reassure her sincerely as I grab a wooden bowl half filled with clean water, immerging a cloth in it before starting to clean up the wound from the few residual of the previous medication, being as gentle and careful as possible. "Healing takes time. And you need to take care of yourself first of all."

I glance up at her, recognizing immediately the authoritve way she tilts her chin up.

" _Ai laik Heda._ "

There is a fierceness in her eyes that I know well, but the spark in them isn't as intense as I've seen it all the other times.

"Your spirit is Heda." I correct her with a small shake of my head. "Your body remains human, Lexa." I remind her finishing to clean up the wound and placing the damp cloth aside before picking up the mortar and pestle.

"My blood is black." She argues back, and I catch a certain note in her voice that I can't quite place but that to my ears sounds like a very odd combination of both pride and... Sadness.

As if the badge of honor that runs in her veins doesn't always make her feel that way.

"It still pours out of you when you hurt." This last part comes out barely above a whisper yet loud enough that I know she heard it, and I have to swallow, hard, to push down the sense of anguish that I can feel rising from the pit of my stomach as images of her lying on the bed with me putting pressure on the bleeding wound painting black dark rivers all over her abdomen and soaking the white furs beneath her flash before my eyes.

It's brief, luckily, but for an heartbeat I sweat that I can feel the wrong sensation of wet dark warmth slipping through my fingers again, followed by the defeating feeling of helplessness and panic that derived from it.

This time she doesn't argue.

She ducks her head in thought and defeat, remaining silent for several minutes. I can feel her eyes on me in a gentle stare for all the time I work, selecting the right herbs and reducing them into a poultice with the mortar, occasionally adding some water to give it the right consistency.

"You learn fast, Clarke."

I was so focused in what I was doing that the sound of her voice, although smooth and gentle like it is everytime she speaks to me, catches me a little by surprise.

But her compliment makes me smile.

"Your medicine fascinates me." I offer sincerely in reply. "And your healers taught me well."

Another smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as I add a pinch of green mashed leaves of comfrey before folding methodically the now ready medication in two thin gauzes.

"You own patience," She praises. "And a gentle touch. Those are not qualities that can be taught, Clarke."

I can't help but blush a little at the sincerity in her words, and at the way she always says my name, tasting it, and making the _K_ click softly on her tongue, leaving her lips so preciously, in a way that I've never heard anyone else say it before.

"Your healers don't have such _qualities_?" I ask her half teasingly ignoring my fluttering heart as I reach for a clean set of bandages.

"Most of my people have grown up to become warriors." She explains. "They haven't known anything else beside how to swing a sword or shoot a bow. Gentlness is not a useful weapon in war." She points out. "And those who have decided to save lives instead of taking them aren't always so caring or optimistic about the injured ones. They do what they must, but focusing on those who can still be saved instead of giving hope to those whose chances are slim."

The note of sadness in her voice towards the end is unmistakable, as it is the guilt in her look as she speaks about the inevitability of sacrifices of those souls.

A look that I've already seen on her...

"Very few are the healers that truly care about everyone and give themselves to the most desperate cases..."

Her voice trails off and I slow down my movement as well on reflex, feeling a shiver crawl up my spine, and a sense of anguish making its way deep under my skin, as if I already know what she is going to say next even before she speaks, and if this isn't already enough, the infinite look of hurt that has descended on her face, darkening her features and taking away the light from her usually bright emerald eyes tells me exactly what this is about, and she confirms it.

"Costia was one of them."

And there it is.

Her greatest pain.

The words come out so quietly, so tentatively, as if afraid of what would happen if she dared to say that name too loudly.

Ever since she told me about Costia and what happened to her I have wondered many times what kind of person she was, knowing that she must have been very special to catch the brooding Commander's attention. There is no doubt about how much she meant to her, and now that I know that she was a healer, guided by a genuine interest and curiosity, I can't even stop myself from asking

"How was she like?"

She lifts her head, pulled out from her thoughts by the sound of my voice, and the first thing that I notice in the moment our gaze meet, is the way her eyes start to clean from those dark clouds, slowly bringing back the light that belongs into them as the softest smile tugs at her lips.

It's nostalgic, small, pained, but beautiful in its way.

"Kind." It's the most istantaneous and sincere answer. "Shy. Smart. Loving." I place the prepared medicament on the entry and exit wound on her side before starting to wrap the bandages around her as she continues, describing her former lover and making me smile softly as well for all the beautiful things she says about her.

"Her presence could fill the coldest day with warmth, and her smile always brought light in the darkest hours. Her selflessness and wish to help the needy was equal to her strength. She was hope, and an inspiration to many of my people..."

Her voice trails off just as I finish to wrap the bandage around her middle and over her left shoulder for further support, and when I pull back, it is with an uneasy sensation that I notice the warm, comforting light that had just appeared in her eyes replaced by the coldest darkness that also fills her voice as she concludes "...and the last person who should have died because of me."

"You didn't kill her, Lexa." I say softly through a shake of my head, trying to offer a kind of comfort that I'm not even sure I can bring to her.

"Didn't I?" She asks, sounding so guilty, angry and defeated all at once.

My heart aches for her. For having something so precious and unique being taken away from her so tragically and brutally.

I know how it feels like.

But I can't allow the guilt that she feels for something she isn't responsible for to have the better on her.

"No." I reply almost harshly. "You didn't." But despite the confidence in my voice I should have expected that it wouldn't have been enough to convince her.

"Our _closeness_ made her a weak spot, a target for my enemies." She argues, jaw set with anger, but not towards me. "I I have put her in danger and doomed her since the beginning, but I was too young, too naive, too blind to see it."

The second of silence that follows is the longest and loudest that I have ever lived, and when her eyes fix on me, widening ever so slightly in quiet realization, I already know the inevitable dark thought this conversation has triggered.

Suddenly it feels like we are no longer speaking of her tragically lost love.

But I don't have any intention to make her reconsider this _closeness_ because of her worries and still hunting ghosts of the past. And there is only one way to continue without having her withdraw and instead making her face the truth that she keeps hidden from herself.

"Would you have chosen differently?" I ask looking at her closely for the minimal sign crossing her face. "Would you refuse to take a chance with _feelings_ for fear of what might happen if you do?"

Her eyes shift back and forth between mine. "They would be safer if I decided not to." She offers quietly avoiding the question, but it's definitely not enough for me.

"Would you?" I insist again, shifting just a little closer, resting one slightly shaky hand on her knee and trying to ignore the way my stomach tightens uncomfortably with nervousness knowing how much her answer would mean. For everything.

She takes a minute to answer me, recognizing the way she shifts her jaw in thought, seeing the internal conflict she is having with herself reflected into her endless, hunted green eyes.

"No," She replies at last.

And I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

There is no trace of doubt or hesitation in her voice, just sincerity, and an emotion that I can't quite place, but that makes my heart skip a beat.

"I have a purpose that has been taught to me since I was born." She continues. "A duty that I have taken when I was called and chosen as Commander to lead my people. But _this_ ,"

She swallows.

"Gives me a further motivation to succeed."

A pause.

Her eyes locked intensely with mine.

"And live."

 _Live._

No longer simply survive.

I don't even trying to contain the wide, bright, full smile that finally dares to make an appearance on my face for the first time in weeks, and that only widens further when I notice a small one starting to shape her lips as well.

"It means a lot hearing you say that." I confess through an emotional knot stuck in my throat.

We look at each other for what seems like entire minutes, or hours, it's hard to tell. I could spend a lifetime swimming into the depths of those reassuring emerald pools and it still wouldn't be enough for me to discover the remaining mysteries hidden in their abyss.

It is only when I see her shiver a little that I divert my gaze. Her arms come up trying to cover herself, suddenly feeling too exposed, and probably not only because she is still sitting on her bed half naked.

"Here," I help her into a more comfortable loose shirt, tying one last time the small knot of the bandages over her shoulder to make sure it stays properly in place. "All done."

Once again I can feel her gentle, patient stare on me for all the time.

And for an infinite heartbeat, in the moment I pull back and meet her magnetic gaze, time stops to exist and everything becomes irrelevant except for one thing.

One particular look.

One glance at my slightly parted lips.

My heart leaps with anticipation.

And at the next beat she leans in.

Her lips meet mine like they always do.

With nothing but pure gentleness, and oh so softly that for the first second I think I might just be imagining it.

But this is not my imagination.

Nothing could ever compare to this delightful, unique feeling.

My eyes flutter shut, and I melt immediately at the comfort and warmth that I find on those incredibly soft lips.

She never stops to surprise me with all her small, sweet, unexpected but definitely welcomed gestures. And the tenderness of her impulsiveness only manages to make it feel more special every time, especially when combined with that contrasting hint of tentativeness.

Unfortunately it ends too soon. When she pulls back my lips tingle with longing, but the look of light embarrasment that I find on her face as my eyes flutter open makes it up for the loss.

"I... Thank you." She says softly, barely murmuring the words, but sounding indeed grateful. And whether she means it for the medication, the little speech we just had or both, it makes my heart swell at her show of affection.

"You're welcome." I whisper back through an equally soft smile. "How do you feel?"

"Better..." The reply comes through a yawn that she is unable to suppress and I have to bite on the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling at the sight.

"You should get some rest."

She shakes her head at the suggestion and I expected it. "A group of my men are returning today from their last assignment. I have a meeting with them as soon as they arrive."

"There is time." I reassure her having inevitably ended up learning her meetings schedule quite well even without actually meaning to during these past weeks.

She ponders the tempting offer for a minute, her eyelids becoming heavier with every passing second until she finally gives in. But not without an offer of her own.

"You should rest too, Clarke." She suggests first, and then, more directly but oh so softly "Stay here with me."

It's clearly a question, although she doesn't make it sound like one. And if the show of tenderness of before wasn't enough to make my heart leap with sentiment, the little hopeful look that she gives me and the traces of hesitation and vulnerability in her voice almost make it burst out of my chest.

I smile. The kind of smile that she has made me discover and that shapes my lips more and more often with every blessed day I spend with her. "I would love to."

I make a quick work to put aside the remaining items of her medication before getting into the bed right next to her as she lays on her uninjured side, facing me, and I can' t help but shift to stay just a bit closer to her.

I would be lying if I said that I haven't desired for this kind of closeness all day.

Share such a simple, intimate even if innocent moment with her is something I always look forward to. Something I deeply cherish. Like the nights that we have started to spend on her balcony, stargazing. The cold white light of the moon and stars shining on the black velvet of the sky, contrasting so beautifully against the warmer one offered by the flickering flames of the dozen of candles scattered around us.

During those peaceful moments it's hard to keep my gaze on the sky and not lose myself in admiring the way such light plays on her instead, flattering her features, much like the effect that the soft glow of the sunrays cascading through the large window is having on her right now, caressing the profile of her face, her elegant neck and exquisite jawline, accentuating the effect of the glitter there.

I reach out a hand, unable to resist the temptation to run my fingertips slowly up and down her arm, drawing casual patterns over that perfect lightly tanned skin.

Her eyes flutter shut and low hum of approval rumbles softly in her throat when I reach a particularly sensitive spot near her elbow making me smile, even more as I continue, delighted to see her enjoy my feather light touch as much as I enjoy the feeling of her warm and incredibly smooth skin under my fingertips.

Anyone would expect the fearsome, brooding Commander of the Blood who has been trained to hold a sword since she could walk and has been into countless battles, to have her skin roughened by the scars that the life of a warrior inevitably brings with it.

But they would be extremely surprised to discover the opposite.

There are signs on her body, scars that are hidden from the eye, with a story behind each one of them that I still haven't heard. I have traced them, memorized their shape and position on her body, and despite their presence, my fingertips have never caressed softest skin than hers. Just like I have never known a more gentle and tender touch than Lexa's.

I let my hand slid lower, past her arm to come and rest gently on her waist, letting it linger there, just above her almost completely healed wound, running my thumb softly across the bandaged spot.

"I thought you were going to die."

It takes me a moment to realize that this time, for the first time, the words aren't just echoing inside of my head but that have actually left my lips, intruding into the warm, comfortable air that was wrapped around us like a passing cold shadow that seeps painfully through my skin and floods into my veins to pierce my heart when she agrees.

"In those moments it felt that way to me too..."

"Were you scared?"

How silly and laughable of me to ask her such question, but once again my lips betrays me, and the words are out before I can stop them.

I know that there isn't a thing that she fears, especially not death. For her is not an end.

She believes in reincarnation, that in some way her spirit will live on forever through the next Commanders, and this is why I can't mask the heavy look of surprise from my face when she answers with a small, quiet "Yes,"

She is sincere, but there is something else peaking in her voice. And I don't have to ask myself what it is when I see her swallow, hard, as she meets my gaze with tentative eyes. "But not about dying."

My hand freeze where I was gently and carefully stroking her injured side, and for an infinitely long moment I feel my heart stop as well. Flutterring so hard in my chest at her words that it leaves me breathless. Choking on the known feeling swelling there.

I don't have to ask her about what she was afraid of.

I already know.

She takes my hand in hers and I have to blink several times to clean my suddenly blurred vision.

" _Klark... Ai-_ "

But I don't let her finish.

I just lean in and kiss her. Not knowing if it is for silencing her or reciprocate in a way I'm not sure words would ever be able to.

She stiffens for a second at the first contact, only to melt against me and kiss me back just as softly as I cup her cheek to bring her a little closer.

For how much my heart aches to hear those words coming from her, part of me feels that there is no need when I can see such sentiment in everything she does, in everything she says, every look and gentle touch, feeling it flowing through my bloodstream, and live in my chest like a second heart.

Or maybe I am the one who is afraid. Scared of the past repeating itself all over again.

The last person I've confessed it died, and I have almost lost her as well, yet again practically by my own hand in a way.

But truth is that I could lose her everyday. We are both very aware of that.

Things with the other clans are quiet lately, but restoring peace takes time, betrayals are always there, lurking in the shadows, ready to jump out from around the corner, and for how much I hope not, inevitably, so are battles.

It does not all depends on her.

Her most trusted advisor tried to kill me and in the attempt he almost succeeded in murdering the Commander he swore to serve and protect, the young woman he practically raised and taught to since she was a child.

If there is something I should have learned among all the uncertanties is that there is no time like the present to say how we feel.

But I can't think like this with her. The desire, the _need_ to believe that this time things will be different, that I won't lose her like everyone else I've been close to doesn't allow me to.

Till the present lasts, we have time.

Time to see that look, that light shining in her eyes and knowing exactly what it means whenever I see it. Knowing what she tells me everytime our eyes meet. Everytime I see her lips shape into one of _those_ smiles, and savour and the safeness that I have never known before and that I know I will never find elsewhere but here. With her.

When I pull back from the kiss, there is an understanding on her face and in her glistening eyes that goes beyond the earthly realm.

"I know..." I answer, whispering softly against her lips as I let my fingertips trace the side of her beautiful face.

There is nothing else to say. So she kisses me again, and again, and I can only answer back and drink in that silent promise that neither of us dare to voice, until the gesture and the light touches turn into a request for more.

We let our bodies speak for us.

Slowly.

Thoroughly.

And this time, the tears I've been holding back fall, mingling with hers between hot, desperate, shaky breaths and sparks of pleasure coursing through our bodies, until we have nothing left.

She curls against my front and I hold her close, moving her hair aside and burying my head in the space there against her neck, losing myself in the combination of leather and leaves and wood and earth that is her scent, so uniquely fresh that caressed me like the breeze of the pleasantly chilly early morning wind.

She holds my hand in hers against the center of her chest even when she falls asleep, and I listen to her slow, even breathing, feeling the strong pulse of life under my fingertips as I mutely shape my lips into the words living in my heartbeat against the vertical scar on the back of her neck.

Right where her eternal soul rests.

* * *

Nodotaim - Again

Daun ste pleni - That's enough

Ai laik Heda - I am the Commander

Klark... Ai, - Clarke... I...

 **Thanks for reading everyone**


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